


10 Ways to fall out of Love with Sean Astin

by whimsicalmuse



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Angst, Het, M/M, Post-Filming Lord of the Rings (Movies), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-29
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 15:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7720798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicalmuse/pseuds/whimsicalmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Elijah decides to "do the right thing" and end his affair with Sean, he finds himself following a 10 step program to forget him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Break Up with him.

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Shirasade: this story was originally archived at the [Monaboyd.net Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Monaboyd.net), which was closed in September 2014 due to software issues and a lack of new submissions for several years. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2014. I e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Monaboyd.net Archive collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Monaboyd_Archive/profile).

You know your life sucks when it falls under some silly cliché, but damned if you can do anything about it. That’s where I found myself at the ripe old age of 23. I was in love with a married man. Having an affair even, stupid though it was. I mean, my friends would look at me, with those “aww, you poor stupid shit” eyes, too polite to say this aloud, but I knew what they meant. I just wasn’t ready to admit it. Denial and all that.

You know what made me realize the love of my life was going to be firmly planted at his wife’s side forever? I got sick. Deathly ill man, I was hacking up green shit, it was fucking gross. I lay there, in my tiny bed in my over priced dingy New York apartment, and I thought, not a soul in the world gives a shit about me. Now, that wasn’t strictly true, but hey, when you’re sick, you find everything miserable. Hannah was out, probably sucking face with some guy in the Village. If I called her, she’d call me a big baby, and after a bit of groveling on my part, she’d come home. But then I’d know she was home alone and miserable because of me, and I might be an asshole big brother, but I’m not that bad.

I thought of calling mom, just to hear the worry in her voice and know she loved me, but then, the same feelings I had about Hannah came creeping up, and I shut that thought down. It wouldn’t be fair of me to call her and whine about my stuffed nose and aching body. She’d dealt with that my whole life.

I must have drank too much Nyquil, because what I ended up doing is pulling out my cell phone, and calling every friend on my contacts list, one by one, until I got an answer.

I got two third of the way through before I began to fret. No one was home, it would seem.

Finally, Dom, who was second to last, picked up, sleepy and fuzzy, and the sound of rustling sheets revealed Billy’s presence. I sucked my teeth, knowing I wouldn’t get one coherent thought out of either of them for at least a few more days.

Billy hadn’t been in the states for months. Scratch that thought, Dom wouldn’t be _moving_ for a few days, much less cognitive.

I sucked my teeth, and hung up.

Finally, I looked at the last number on my contact list, and groaned. I ran my thumb over the clear button a few times, and bounced my leg under the covers. I had talked to Sean two days ago, and lied about my health. He had seen me on TV, out in the rain without a coat, and warned about my catching a cold, and though my throat was already scratchy when I spoke with him, I sniffed casually, and informed him that I was _fine_. Now, to call him up, whinging for sympathy would at the very least piss him off. At the very worst, would add another tick on the Tally Of Elijah Wood’s Childishness Board.

I would rather wax my nuts thank you very much.

Still, nestled in fuzzy covers, listening to the rain beat against the rickety window stirred up a deep homesickness in me. I missed him. I knew if he was with me, he would pull me into his arms, and I could bury my nose in his chest, and inhale the tang of Old Spice and Sean sweat. He’d rumble a bit more, fussing about me taking care of myself, and an hour or so later, our lips would be re-acquainting themselves with one another, as my hands re-mapped his body.

Thunder rumbled distantly, and I shook my head to clear it of thoughts of shagging Sean in my bed. At the very least, I could have his voice pull me to sleep. I chewed my lip, and pressed the dial button, waiting for him to pick up.

Christine did.

I smiled, hoping to clear my voice of all forms of guilt, and inquired about her health, and the girls.

“Everyone’s fine, Elijah. How about yourself? You sound stopped up there.”

“Oh yea, just a case of the sniffles.”

“Mm. Well you want to talk to Sean? I’ll go get him?”

“If he’s busy, I can call later, it’s no problem.”

“Oh, well here he is…”

I frowned, not liking the guilty tone of voice she had, and wondered if I had interrupted something.

“Elijah?”

I beamed. Man, what a pathetic sap.

“Sean? Hi.”

“Hey! How are you feeling? You sound like shit.”

“Um, okay I guess…I think you were right about that rain, I came home later, and felt sick already.”

“Uh-huh, I knew you would. Call it a daddy instinct.”

“Mmmhmm.”

I paused, my tongue heavy, reluctant to tell him the real reason I called: for sympathy.

“Well, I’d love to chat, but um…“ he lowered his voice and I heard his body shift. ”Christine has set up a dinner for our anniversary. She got a sitter for the kids and everything.”

I felt my blood run cold, and shut my eyes.

How could I forget?

“Oh, well, em, go, go on then! Eat, drink, be Merry!”

“Bad joke, Lij.”

“Hey, I’m drugged up on Nyquil, cut me some slack, Astin.”

“Sean?” I heard Christine’s heels clack against the floor behind him.

“Coming right now, honey!”

“Sean-“ I swallowed past the lump in my throat.

“Bye Elijah, I’ll call you tomorrow, ok?” His voice lowered even more.

“I love you.”

I nodded, though he couldn’t hear me, and opened my mouth to reply. “I love you too, miss you…”

The dial tone was his only reply.

I stared at the phone until the “call ended” letters blurred, the black pixels separating like an old video game. I wasn’t going to cry on top of calling him like a loser, I just fucking wasn’t.

So I rolled over, took another dose of Nyquil, and passed out instead.

When I woke up, showered off a layer of snot and misery, and pulled on some clothes, I ran the events of the night before through my head. Sure, it wasn’t Seanie’s fault, per se, that he’s had obligations to live up to, but the fact that he’d even had those obligations were. The bottom line was, I couldn’t fit into his life, I fit in a different puzzle, and I wasn’t willing to try to make the pieces fit anymore.

I’d have to break things off.

Unfortunately, the opportunity to do so didn’t arrive until Ali’s recital. I was back in LA, promoting my latest project, and gearing up for the next, so he and Christine were kind enough to invite Uncle Eli to see the pretty princess. I agreed, sitting through the entire show fumbling at my belt buckle as if that would make the elephants that were tap dancing in my stomach go away. To make matters worse, Sean was being particularly pleasant, happy to see me for the first time in months. He stole glances and chaste touches when Christine was using the camera, taking advantage of his position between us.

I fought the urge to squirm away, freezing when he smiled warmly at me, before rising to applaud his daughter. I stood up too, a genuine smile on my face, as I was sure I was doing the right thing. Sean didn’t need me complicating things, and his kids deserved more.

Ali was dismissed and came bounding down the row, to be scooped up into the arms of her father, giggling. I congratulated her, kissed her round cheeks, so much like her fathers, and watched as she, her sister and Christine made their way to the car.

“Mommy says we’re going out to dinner to celebrate. Are you coming, Uncle Elijah?”

My smile wavered.

“Um, no sweetheart. I can’t.”

Sean frowned, “I thought you said you could before…”

My eyes darted from his family to Sean.

“Well I…”

I know I sounded uncomfortable, and Christine, bless her, was kind enough to pick up on my discomfort, and quietly excused her and the kids.

“Come on girls, let’s let daddy and Elijah talk…”

Sean waited until they walked all the way down the hall, and out the blue door, before he turned to me.

“Elijah?”

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go. I don’t think I’d enjoy myself.”

“Why?” He looked hurt.

“Because,” I chewed my nail, a telltale nervous habit, and then forced myself to look into his eyes. It was a moment like out of a sad tear jerker. Everything about it was so perfect, so branding, I knew I would ache for the rest of my life. His honey warm eyes begged me.

“Because I came to tell you I don’t think we should see each other anymore. I’m ending it.”

“Elijah-“ He hesitated, his face clearly wanting to pull me close, but propriety of course, not allowing it. Certainly not in Ali’s school.

“That’s why. You can’t, Sean. And I need you to.”

I swiped at a tear that somehow had fallen.

“I need you.”

He nodded, his face blank, though his eyes showed a different emotional forecast, and he lowered his head in defeat.

I motioned with my hand, swallowing around the lump in my throat.

“You should go.”

He nodded again, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Goodbye, Elijah.”

With that he turned on his heel, and walked down the hall, out the door to his family. I watched him go, his brown clothes fading into the taupe floor, until he was a speck against the blue door. He opened it, let in a shock of yellow sunlight, and was gone, leaving me in the echoing hall.

I had never felt so alone in my life.


	2. Go out. Have fun. Get Drunk. (And forget about him.)

Somehow I managed to make it back to New York without making a complete ass of myself, but that’s not to say I wasn’t cracked in pieces inside. Still, I’m no girl, and I put up a brave face so as not to arouse suspicions. A select few (the hobbits) knew about our affair, and the thought of explaining the arrangement wasn’t all that desirable.

How desirable? See previous mention of genital hygiene.

The months got cooler, people started walking closer to one another, and somehow, keeping busy with work, I managed to survive those crucial first few months without him.

Loud music and bad poetry I would deny writing if ever confiscated also helped.

Still, I missed having someone to talk to, so naturally, when I found out Boyd was coming to town, I was shaking in my chucks with delight.

I knew he’d do what any other Brit would do when a friend was recovering from heartbreak: take me out for a pint.

The pint turned into overpriced Midori Sours, and instead of a smoky pub with fish and chips, we found ourselves in a trendy strip bar with fake breasts and hors d’oeuvres, but then, we were in New York. The evening began rather miserably, since Billy was trying very hard to forget that he missed Dom, and I was trying very hard to forget I missed Sean, and half way through the night, we were pissed, in a private room, and being offered more ass than a proctologist.

Something weird flashed in Billy’s eyes, when a stripper leered over him, with glittering eyelids, and wet lips, and he took on a predatory look I’d never seen before.

I had to admit it was both attractive and frightening.

I almost envied Dom.

Still, I was privy enough to their…arrangement to know better than to question his obvious intent with her, though I did wonder about how his girlfriend would feel about the arrangement. She might be able to turn a blind eye to Dom, but this girl would surely talk…wouldn’t she?

When her voice tipped an octave, high and whiney, and fucking irritating, I snatched Billy up, groaning at his sloppiness, and solid weight.

The youngest (oldest) hobbit could do for a few trips to the gym, it would seem.

We staggered hip to hip to the taxi, and when we got stuck in traffic, walked the few brisk blocks home, cheeks stinging in the cool autumn air. The chill burned my lungs with every breath, and made my stomach churn like that one time I had an iffy burrito from Rigo’s Taco’s on Van Nuys, and wondered when was the last time I ate, but I didn’t even make it up the stairs-I puked squarely on my own doorstep.

It was thoroughly amazing. Really. The sheer volume of it all.

It was also thoroughly humiliating.

I think Billy sobered up right quick then, petting poor Doodle, and tucking me in with aspirin and a cup of water. When I woke up the next afternoon, I found he had written me a concise note, ordering me to rest, eat, and of course, stop drinking to forget about missing Seanie.

I promptly called him, and introduced him to the expression “Pot, meet kettle.”

He didn’t get it. Stupid fuck.

Anyhow, with three out of four hobbits reunited, things weren’t too bad, and the next few days were alright, once I got past Dom scolding us, and then shagging Billy.

Yea real punishment there. Ohh, poor naughty Billly.

Excuse me while I barf.

But you know what? It felt good to get out, check out the scene through an alcohol-induced haze, and untie the knots Sean Astin had tangled me up in. So much so, that when I saw him, a few months later, I was ready.

Ready for anything.


	3. Be sickeningly nice to him. (So he wonders how you?re plotting his murder).

I knew the moment would come when I’d have to face him, but to be perfectly honest, I’d never really sat down with myself and hashed out just what I was going to _do_.

So naturally when my publicist informed me that Frodo and Sam would be reunited again for the Lincoln Center event, I all but shit a brick.

I mean, sure, I’d been trying to live it up in New York, going out with Hannah, getting a newer, more vintage, and weirder wardrobe. I almost felt like a New Yorker.

But the truth of the matter was, despite the glib exterior, I still ached inside, and all romantic notions aside, I missed Sean.

I missed my friend.

I didn’t want our meeting to be tense and angry, where we’d have to force smiles and chemistry like Dom and Billy did so many times. I wanted to really just _be_ with him, and have a crumb of the old banter between us to make up for all the biting loneliness I’d battled in the big city.

To my pleasant surprise, it seemed Sean wanted it too.

I knew as soon as I saw him, rosy cheeked and grinning at me among the cameramen and reporters, that he was happy to see me, maybe as happy as I was. I had run several blocks and then rushed to hail a cab, and my cheeks were burning still from the shock of the stuffy heat after the icy cold from outside.

He’d hugged me briefly, a gesture lost to the cameras, and as he pulled back, he looked down studying me briefly.

“You look pale, Elijah,” he murmured, pulling me close again, so I could feel the rumble of his soft voice in his chest against my cheek, and smell his aftershave and fabric softener. The smell was so bittersweet that my throat dried up, and I had to force myself out of his embrace, and into my soft smile.

“You look like shit too, Sean.” I teased, my real feelings clear in my eyes. He looked good, actually. Healthy, though I did see a few lines around his eyes.

The event itself skipped by quickly, reporters asking the same batch of questions we’d heard so often I wondered if the Associated Press had passed out a memo years ago and never updated.

Someone teased Sean about the rumor that he’d hurt his shoulder playing tennis, and as Sean good-naturedly remarked he was still sore, my hands darted out, and I brushed the pads of my fingertips against the softness of his neck, smiling shyly at the shock in his eyes.

I wasn’t sure what I meant by doing that.

Later, as I was discussing the disintegration of Frodo’s psyche as he battled the ring, I felt his familiar footsteps behind me, and as I turned back to grin at him, I found him smiling down at me, almost reverently.

I knew that dandelion soft expression on his face, knew it was well as I knew the back of my hands. It was that face, that smile, that he wore the first time he told me he loved me, years before in New Zealand.

We both swallowed, the moment over in a blink of an eye, and I turned back to the reporters as he moved on to mingle with other guests.

The film ran out, lagging tongues became tired, and when the bar closed shop, people trickled out into the sloshing streets. I lingered, not really wanting to go home, and knowing I had the luxury of being given a room for the night, should I use it.

Still deliberating the joy I’d get out of curling up in a huge cold bed, I found a semi-dry patio, and lighting a cig, curled up into a corner, leaning over the wrought iron railing to stare down into the dark damp city.

“May I join you?”

I turned around, exhaling the drag, and nodded. I’d expected this-I just thought he’d wait longer. I patted the railing to encourage him over.

“Did you enjoy yourself, Sean?” I took a puff, watching the ashes blow away with the soft winds of the falling wet flakes.

“Not particularly, you know these events drive me crazy. Same rabid photographers, same bored reporters, same-“

“Stupid questions.” We droned in unison, smiling.

“This does suck ass, huh?” I smiled. “But the foods not bad, plus there is free alcohol.”

“Ah, and it is important to keep your priorities in line.”

His face fell, probably mirroring my own.

“There is nothing more important, Sean.” I flicked my stub off the side, watching it land in a pile of snow on the ledge below us.

“Elijah, you don’t look good. You look more than pale, you look…”

“Miserable?” I laughed bitterly.

“Translucent. In California you were luminescent. Now you don’t glow.”

I wanted to tell him that glow was because of him, was because of our love, but it truly sounded like the gayest thing I could have ever said, so I bit my lip.

“It’s all the cloud cover, Sean. Not getting enough vitamin A, probably. You worry too much.”

“Always, for you, yes. It’s not just that. I don’t…”

He bit his lip, and looked down. “It’s not my place to say this, but you’re not cut for this city, Elijah. You’re good, and kind, and if you stay here, you’ll be oily and jaded.”

I smiled sadly. “You make me sound like the by-product of an oil change.”

He grinned. “I’d believe that, if I didn’t know for a fact that you couldn’t change your oil for shit. Jesus, between you and Dom…”

I laughed, remembering the exasperated sighs he’d give me whenever he’d drive my car and realize I had “no fluids.” I just wasn’t bothered, I guess.

“Well, lucky for me we hail cabs here. I don’t have to drive as much.”

“I miss…”

I snapped my head up.

I knew what he missed. Spontaneous drives up or down a highway as far as we could go in the time we had, only to pull into some seedy restaurant, order their house special and something sweet, and steal kisses in between bites of food.

He missed what I missed. All the stolen moments we had, that brought us to this tense, sad minute.

I swallowed, hard, and blinked hard.

“I miss it too, Sean.”

I spoke so softly, I wondered if he heard me.

“Elijah,” he sighed, a great puff of fog hovering around his face. “Elijah, what are you doing tonight?”

I looked up, rubbing my hand over my mouth.

“Not a damn thing.”

“Would you like…would you like to go with me for a cup of coffee or something? Just as friends, of course.” He added quickly.

I smiled. “I’d love to.”

Right, friends. We could do this. _Friends_. I followed him into the building, thumb in mouth, chewing, repeating this over and over like a mantra. _Friends_.

We could do it, couldn’t we?


	4. (Nearly?)Shag Him.

Before you could say “Taxi, Please!” we were dashing into a greasy spoon, breathless from the cold, our faces damp and flushed. While waiting to be seated, I stomped onto the mat by the door, shaking off the flakes of snow that settled atop my boots, and when I looked up, he was staring, with the strangest expression on his face.

“What?”

I brushed my bangs back, shaking to make sure I didn’t have stray flakes in my hair.

If they fell out, and down, the shock of the ice against my skin would be most unpleasant.

“Nothing.” He murmured, and with a warm fleshy thumb, brushed a stray flake that had settled near the corner of my eye, high on my cheek.

I blushed.

“Thanks.”

“Table for two?”

I turned, blushing more, as if “Sally” would know what I had just been thinking, (and let me tell you it involved a fireplace, bear rug, and two nude Californians.)

He held his arm out, as if to say, “After you,” and I agreed, feeling the damned heat of my cheeks still, and like a schoolgirl, I silently remarked how polite he was.

I was wholly disgusted with myself.

_Get it together._

I rubbed my numb hands, and slid into the booth.

“Coffee?” The waitress asked, and Sean smiled up at her.

“Two, one black with two sugars, the other with milk, not cream, and five sugars please.”

Sally smiled.

“There’s sugar over there, but I’ll bring the java.”

If I didn’t know better, I thought Sean blushed.

“You still remember how I like coffee?”

He smiled.

“You hate coffee, except when tired or really cold, and if you do drink it, you drown it with sugar. At one point in New Zealand, I thought your bloodstream was caffeinated.”

I laughed.

So many days I had only had coffee to eat or drink, and each time, when he found out, he’d go all Samwise on me.

I dearly missed it.

“Ahh, m’poor Samwise. Always having to look after the dense Mr. Frodo.”

Sean rolled his eyes.

“Nah, it was just an excuse to get close to you.”

I lowered my lashes.

I didn’t expect him to go out and say it.

“Elijah, I hope that didn’t make you uncomfortable—“

“No, it’s just,” I picked at my napkin. “It’s weird talking about us, about…what happened, in the past tense. I wonder at how easily you do it; I guess it’s still hard for me.”

I so dearly wanted to chew a nail that my nail beds throbbed, and I had to curl my fingers around the salt and peppershakers to stop myself.

“It’s hard for me too, Lij. Very hard.”

He looked out onto the blurry street.

“I don’t want you to not talk about it, though, Sean. I’d rather deal with the weird than nothing at all.”

“I miss you, Lij.”

I blinked, feeling a prick in my eyes.

“I miss you too, Sean.”

I slide my hand across the table and touched the back of his palm, smiling as warmly and platonically as possible.

Apparently, I wasn’t good enough.

One rushed cup of coffee and a hailed cab later were dashing in from the swirling snow, up the elevator to my hotel room to talk.

I smiled during the pregnant silence in the elevator, and wondered if Dom had ever found himself in such a situation with Billy during one of the many times when the two switched from “off” to “on”.

I decided to ask him the next time we talked.

I could use pointers.

As we stepped out of the elevator, I slid my hand into his, but as we walked down the hall, another guest, (and attendee of the Lincoln Center event) passed us, and Sean pulled his hand from mine, cheeks red.

Somewhere deep inside my head, a little voice told me this was perhaps a sign, but I shook it away, already too keyed up and hungry to touch him, taste him, to care.

As soon as the door closed behind us, he pulled me to him, crashing his lips against mine.

Damn, I had forgotten how good he tasted.

I tasted the sweet and bitter of the coffee beans and sugar, as well as something spicy and painfully familiar.

His tongue slicked against mine, big hands already in my hair, and I sighed against the kiss, already high from the feeling of being pressed against his warm chest which was broader than my own. He cupped my ass, digging into the worn jeans, and I pulled back to nuzzle his neck, smelling the musk of his aftershave, mixed with the rich tang of leather.

God he smelled good.

Yet, as he turned me around to prop me against the wall, (perhaps knowing already that I was weak in the knees, maybe the whimpers gave it away?) I saw the glint of his wedding band in the streetlights, and my stomach fell.

Yeah, he was here, and he was kissing me, but despite the fact that he missed me, and God knows, I missed him, he was _still_ married, and nothing we did that night would change that.

I leaned my head back, my throat already tight, partly from the sadness I felt knowing I’d have to send him away, and partly because he was kissing the hollow of my throat, and the effect shot down to my groin, twisting my stomach along the way.

We’d have to stop this, before things got too far, and I’d have to be the one to do it.

I knew from the amber heat in his eyes when he looked up at me for half a moment that he wouldn’t be able to do it.

I wanted to cry.

I cleared my throat instead.

“Sean,” I hissed as his hand cupped me through the jeans, and he murmured something against my shoulder.

“Yeah?” He whispered. He looked up at my eyes, his face tight. “If you want me to stop you’re gonna have to say so Elijah, because I can’t...” He fisted my shirt gently.

“I just can’t…can’t half breathe without you.”

“Me neither,” I hissed. “But we can’t…”

He nodded, blinking against what skin was exposed on my chest.

“Elijah, I didn’t come here for this.”

His eyes begged me to understand.

But all I felt was hurt, I fucking hurt, and I felt like shit.

“I know Sean, but it’s come to this, and I think you should go.”

He pulled away, reluctantly, and nodded.

“Elijah—“

“Sean—“

He looked down.

“I still love you.”

He leaned forward to kiss me, and I turned my head, looking down onto the wet snowy city.

I didn’t look up to see him leave.


	5. Shag someone else (or at least try)

Getting a new job was a godsend for me. Yeah, let me escape to do some rough and tumbly fight scenes with the boys, like a guy my age ought to be doing, instead of curling up in the twin bed like a stupid shit pining for a married man. Not only was that pathetically sad, it was so girly.

So I buried myself in work.

Filming turned out to be great. The guys there were cool, and as long as I remembered to bundle up proper when I went out, and dodge the pieces of paparazzi that lurked around every corner, I found myself finally beginning to settle into the Big Apple.

And finally forget about Sean.

Which somehow, through a series of complicated turnabouts, led me to Kelly Osbourne.

See, she and I had met thanks to Dom, who has a great affinity for the family, and often sought them out at the boring award ceremonies.

I, like any other guy with a pulse, had seen Kelly’s…performance on the show, and then had the misfortune of hearing her songs on MTV, but in spite of all this, I found myself…dunno, kinda thinkin’ she was pretty cool.

A few weeks into the spring, Kelly called and told me that she and some friends were going to be in the city. She suggested meeting up, nothing serious, maybe a bite to eat at my favorite place.

I was game.

Hell, I’d not socialized with another person that wasn’t on the set in weeks, especially since Hannah had a new beau from the lower east side, and was enjoying her pierced walk on the wild side.

So sure enough, I end up having a shave and a shower, and then for some weird reason I put on cologne, good stuff, dig out my funkiest gear, and head out to meet her. We decided at the last moment on some trendy lounge that started out with drinks and dinner and then opened up the dance floor with music you could only appreciate after you’d tried their samosas and had done a bit of acid.

But I really didn’t mind.

When I got there, she wasn’t there yet, which is typical. Californians, even English-bred Californians, take being flaky or fashionably late to a brand new level, so I ordered their multi-blend tea and got comfy in the velvet semi-circle booth.

Forty minutes later, Miss Osbourne breezed in, sporting a rather clingy slim dress, red lips shining as she gushed with an earful of apologizes for her lateness.

Which I accepted graciously.

It was then that I noticed her “friends” were definitely not with her.

I must have turned green as the tablecloth because she smiled widely and put a squishy hand against mine, reminding me that they would be here later; they had to pick up a friend.

So we dive into the samosas, which were very good actually, so long as you ordered a pitcher of water to cool your poor tongue, and by the time the trippy-ass music started, the friends arrived, and I decided with a sigh that I couldn’t feel any gayer.

They were all women.

Each and every one of them.

And I was the lone guy.

Some I’d seen on the show, and one I knew already, though that didn’t do much to make me feel better.

Why? Why because she was beautiful, of course, and none other than Mia Tyler.

Mia-God, the woman had these lips, ya know? And she looked at me like I wore a golden sign above my head that said “Heartbroken loser.”

I spent the whole dinner in a soft mood, only adding a few things here and here, being constantly prodded into conversation by Kelly, who kind of gave me these looks that made me uneasy.

And then made me calculate if she was jailbait.

I didn’t really have time to contemplate it because they drug me off the booth and onto the floor, and it was only when I started to appreciate the music that I’d realized they’d been nursing me with alcohol all night. My limbs felt heavy and uncoordinated, and I had a visceral recollection of my performance at the nudie bar.

A band of soft bodies surrounded me-glowing colors, like that horrible acid trip scene from Dumbo, and I lurched and mowed through them, staggering outside to get some air.

I had the definite feeling I’d be puking at some point that night.

I heard dirt crunch behind me, not surprised really-I did just look like a weird sissy, but when I turned around, I was honestly surprised to see Mia watching me.

Still wearing that expression that was like the flicker of a match’s flame across your palm.

I opened my mouth to talk, grinning bashfully, but she stepped forward and pulled me into a hug. I rested my head on her shoulder, all comfy-like, trying to silently command my dick not to get any ideas.

Unfortuantely, she smelled good, and her breasts were warm against my chicken chest, so before I knew it I was stiffly (ahem) thanking Kelly for a wonderful dinner, (my eyes screaming ‘TOO YOUNG FOR ME’) and then piling into a taxi with Mia, my hands creeping in places that could get me arrested.

And she was up for it too. I could feel and smell as much, and that was like a light being turned on-I remembered the last woman I’d fucked, how hot it was, and I dunno....I suddenly had this burning urge to fuck her, just to see what it would be like (not because I wanted to know if it would feel as right as it did with him).

At least that’s what I told myself.

By the time we got to her place (because it was closer), her lipstick was gone, her hair was damp and matted, and I was walking through the lobby with my fly open.

We peeled off each other long enough to get into her apartment, and as soon as I fell onto the bed atop her, I realized there were many reasons why this wasn’t going to work.

The first being that in the heat of the moment, I murmured “Sean.”

God knows she took it like a trooper. When I pulled away, my face crumpled in embarrassment, she didn’t pop me one like I expected.

Instead, she just…stared at me, like she was putting it all together.

“Don’t open one door until you close another, Elijah. Not even for sex.”

With that, she scooted off the bed, offered me my coat, and I staggered out, mouth open, wondering when the hell women had gotten to be so damned smart.

Remembering my manners, I turned to apologize and thank her, but all I got was the gold metal of her number three, so I opted to say it through the door.

“I—“ loud, then softer still. “I’m sorry…I…”

But I didn’t really know what else to say.


End file.
